On the Shoulders of Giants
by Geschichtensammler
Summary: Tension is rising in Ankh-Morpork, its population slowly realising that all it takes to get rid of unwanted neighbours is getting someone else to form the mob. William de Worde has a vague, transparent, not-quite-there outline of what generous people might call a plan, but he might as well be the man struggling to move a giant rock uphill. You know the one.
1. Pressing Circumstances

A.N.

I don´t know if anyone is interested in this story, given that I don´t have much experience with the DiscFanWorld. But I recently read Pratchett´s _The Truth_ and thought to myself, "Why, I wouldn´t mind reading some more!" And then reality set in when I remembered that there is little else to find on this particular set of characters. Thus, I started this piece. Gods know if I have the patience to finish it.

The story will mainly revolve around William de Worde, Sacharissa Cripslock and Otto Chriek and will also feature other well-known Discworld characters. I personally don´t mind OCs, but they will only be included in small doses when it suits the development of this piece of fiction.

Warnings: Minor swearing, speciesism, occasional violence.

* * *

" _I come here to Ankh-Morpork, zey tell me things are different, but really it is alvays the same."_ (Otto Chriek, in: Terry Pratchett, The Truth)

* * *

History, as some scholars are fond of reiterating, is best described as a circle, although an argument could be made for its even closer resemblance to a buzz saw that gently grinds time into oblivion. The principle, probably invented by an Agatean philosopher with too much time on his hands and too little imagination, given that the world was (rather too perfectly) shaped like the thesis in question, was sound if one were fond of painting in broad strokes. However, some successfully argued that this could not possibly be true – after all, the little things above all counted, and surely there would have been a mention of the invention of cheese cake if it had happened in a previous age. Therefore, it had not happened yet, ergo history could not be a circle, or at least not the same one.

An obstinate observer would unfailingly point out the intangible quality of time, after which rational discussion generally fell out of favour. But if one truly wanted to get to the bottom of things, the idea had to be picked apart with surgical precision, a laborious procedure complicated infinitely by the fact that memory diluted over time.

Fortunately, William de Worde was nothing if not persistent. The notion had come to him on a muzzy morning after weeks of nothing but paperwork left there by his employees.

"The _Times_ " he had insisted into a cup of mud-thick coffee, "should branch out." Before anyone could dissuade him from what looked like another of his hare-brained schemes, he had sprung up, stumbled successfully over two dwarfs and the door stopper and disappeared into his study. He returned twenty minutes later, bearing a thick volume with the rotund Unseen University emblem* and another beverage.

* _Every book bearing the UU mark catered to its Latation slogan (_ NUNC IT VIDES – NUNC NE VIDES _) via an enchantment that erased it from existence at random intervals. Instead of draining the wizard who had finished the incantation, the spell drew the power necessary to uphold the magic from its environment. In some cases, said environment consisted of its unfortunate proprietor who, after a certain amount of proud ownership, perished under mysterious circumstances. The problem could be averted through the ancient ritual of placing the book on a shelf and not touching it more than once a year, which happened to occur naturally in most buyers anyway._

"Alright, William" Sacharissa Cripslock ventured, seeing as no one seemed especially keen to encourage the chief editor. "What´s this new idea of yours?"

"Funny you should mention it" said William smugly, having anticipated the question. He set the book onto the breakfast table amidst honey and oatmeal, and it was nigh impossible to ascertain whose sigh was greater: William´s relieved burst of breath or the table´s despairing groan under the new strain.

"Mention vot, please?" The _Times_ ´ chief iconographer had lifted the hatch to the cellar, clutching a steaming cup of cocoa and eyeing them with apprehension.

"Ah, yes" William brightened noticeably, "come join us, Otto. I could use your opinion." This earned him a distrustful glare from Sacharissa*.

 _*Given the nature of their relationship, William, blessed with boundless ideas and little compunctions, could never be sure of Sacharissa´s approval. To add weight to his endeavours, he mostly relied on their resident vampire to support his schemes. Otto was not only enthusiastic about unprecedented experiments, but also served as a cushion between the wily journalist and his enraged partner once an idea blew up in their faces._

Otto Chriek shuffled towards them, holding the cocoa in front of his chest as a not-so-subtle shield against Sacharissa´s disdain.

"Sales have been decreasing steadily over the past two months, right? We´ve got a lot more competition now, yes? And it´s getting more difficult to find good stories, _true_ stories, every day, isn´t it? These are all rhetorical questions, Otto, you don´t have to nod every time."

"We know all that" Sacharissa interrupted him, impeccably groomed fingers drumming on wood. Tactactactac. Tactactactac. "What´s your point?"

"The point, my dear, is that we don´t reach the customer. Our stories are tailored to the news that occur in this city. But who´s to say everyone is interested in the broad spectrum? What we _should_ do is writing columns specifically for certain types of people."

"Such as?"

"Well, ah… _Well_. Gardeners, for instance."

Sacharissa´s eyebrows gave an imperceptible twitch. "Gardeners."

"Exactly! I´m willing to bet a month´s wages – _which has been diminishing, in case I haven´t mentioned it yet_ – that there are dozens, nay, hundreds of people out there who never even heard of the trade discussions currently dominating the city´s political debate. Instead, they may think about the best way to get their crops and plantations through the winter months. Think about the knowledge they could share, like, for instance, how to correctly prune their celery, or-"

"You know, William, they don´t prune those" said Sacharissa almost pityingly.

"Well, it´s not a perfect metaphor. The point, however, still stands."

"And you zink" Otto ventured slowly, "zat zer people vill _vrite_ about zese things instead of goink to zer clubs zat already exist."

"Not everyone has the time to go to these kinds of meetings" huffed William, "but everyone has time to spend a penny on their way home. Our salesmen are practically everywhere."

He risked a careful glance at his female co-editor. To his surprise, she merely shrugged and resumed the preparation of her cereal. "It´s not the worst idea you´ve had. We could put a note in tomorrow´s edition, find out if anyone´s interested."

"That´s settled then. Wonderful! Otto, see if you can´t find a nice image to go with the ad. Two people shaking hands, or maybe an assortment of arranged tools, something like that."

"Alright, but it might take some time" said Otto apologetically. "My iconograph got broken yesterday. I have been vorking on it, but I still need to replace zer lens."

"Do that first, then. Sacharissa, why don´t we work on the finer details in my study?"

"We´ll see about that. Why don´t you explain the giant book on our breakfast table first."

"Oh, that." William opened the tome reverently. "The pages! Look at them." Lovingly leafing through the gossamer sheets, he completely failed to notice the look between Sacharissa and Otto. "This, my dear colleagues, is our future."

"Vot, handvritten chapters? Bad grammar? Or are you referring to the contents?" The vampire´s spidery fingers etched the title into the air. " _Zer small Compendium of All Zinks foule and fylzy, viz annotations by His Honour Ze Venerable Edgith Ambonos, Volume Zirty-Zree_ ", you mean zis?"

"What? No! I mean z-… _this_!" He shook the page between his fingertips. "Don´t you see? Text on both sides, that´s what it´s all about, I´m telling you. Double-sided printing!"

Proving that some things could be relied upon regardless of what happened, Sacharissa rolled her eyes. "Take it up with Gunilla, then. Honestly, is it too much to ask for a peaceful breakfast? Without business proposals or spontaneous outbreaks of fire in the general vicinity upon which we _must of course_ investigate _immediately_ , lest the fire has already been lain to waste and, oh _no_ , we wouldn´t _possibly_ get good iconographs in _that_ case." Deeming both her co-workers properly chastened, she returned her full attention to the combination of fruits and grains in her bowl. Even though the novelty of good food brought on by her new job´s wages had worn off after a while, she still considered it a crime not to show at least a little appreciation.

William recognised a cause lost and nudged Otto who had been staring into his cocoa like it contained a valid alternative to Riffel´s _Theorem of Prismatic Splicing_. "Come on. I still need to get the Thieve Guild´s statement about rising rates, and they always like more than one person to show up. Makes them feel important."

"Oh, alright." Otto perked up, cup all but forgotten. "I suppose I could take my spare iconograph wiz me. Although I haven´t taught zer imp to paint in colour yet."

"Fine by me. Sacharissa, we´ll see you in a few hours." She gave them a dismissive wave which prompted William to back out of the room. Otto retrieved his equipment and followed after him. "Vell" he observed, safely out of hearing distance, "she certainly is a cheery vun today."

"Can´t blame her for not being a morning person. But I suppose you know all about that, eh?" That comment, delivered with a hefty dose of manic humour and the awkward smile of someone out of his depth hoping he has avoided making a horse´s arse (or any arse, really) of himself, earned him an anticlimactic shrug from the vampire. "I cannot say I do, alzhough I get vhere you are comink from."

Their walk to the city centre took them at least half an hour longer than it would anyone else, not least because a number of shady characters took them aside to grant them glimpses of various oddities that they felt ought to be made known to the public, amusingly-shaped groceries being only a small number of said articles. Still, William felt that too much of a (questionably) good thing made any follow-ups stale, and so he mostly put the prospectors off with vague apologies*.

* _Apart from one memorable sheep doing things no sheep should be capable of, things of the sort that would have made any assassin´s instructor blink and nod in cool approval, and therefore warranted the inevitable fame. Some things you just could not get around in the big wahoonie._

One string of briefly-lived encounters later, as they crossed a narrow bridge arching desperately away from what passed as water provided by the River Ankh, William´s brain finally caught up with the past few minutes. "Hang on. Didn´t some of these guys act suspicious to you?"

He half-expected a careless dismissal from his colleague, but was instead taken aback by the shifty look that suddenly took hold of the vampire´s grey features. "Vut? No. I don´t zink so. Vhy vould you say zat?"

"Otto." He fixated on the iconographer with stern eyes. "That was the most pathetic attempt at a disavowal I´ve seen all week. If I didn´t know better, I´d say you have something to hide."

"Oh."

"That last man was practically stabbing you with his eyeballs."

"Really? I did not notice."

"Now tell me, why would these men react to your presence like you personally insulted their ancestry, although I cannot declare the notion wholly unfounded?"

"It´s nothing much, really-… oh, vait a moment, please." He busied himself with securing the iconograph on his shoulder that had precariously shifted. "You know how it iz. Vun day, people greet you on zer street, and zer next day, zey greet you wiz pitchforks. People are funny like zat."

"And you are sure you haven´t affronted them in any way? I don´t know, given them a reason to treat you like dirt?"

The vampire shot him an odd look. "You zink zey need a reason?

"But surely they wouldn´t-…" William began before remembering the headlines of the past weeks. The recollection sent, if not a full-blown shiver, then at least a vaguely uncomfortable sensation crawling down his spine. There had been an awful lot of violent infringements between species lately. The property damage alone had sent a considerable amount of insurance agencies flourishing to new heights of financial progress with the plethora of new contracts that were commissioned as a consequence. And speaking of damage…

"How exactly did your iconograph get broken?" William asked suspiciously.

"Vell, zhere vas an incident wiz some dwarfs, but I don´t zink zey really meant to damage my eqvipment."

And there it is, William thought bitterly. Another little sign that society is doomed to fracture and fall apart. Not only did the human´s assumption of inherent superiority lend itself to some awkward publicly voiced and paper-printed opinions, but many members of other species had come to Ankh-Morpork with their business ventures, their dreams and hopes for a better future and the deeply ingrained prejudices of their people. Those firmly attuned to the flow of transactions found a way to set the worst preconceptions aside, but apparently, the behavioural pattern had shifted from wary to hostile. William´s excitement about the journalistic potential was, to his credit, tinged with a healthy dose of shame.

"Anyvay" Otto interrupted his self-admonishment, "do you see _zat_?"

As they peered around a grubby corner, the first thing that grabbed the eye was the collection of strategically placed rocks. On second thought, the sight revealed itself to be the gathering of a number of trolls. Even a single troll can block most traffic on the average street, and currently, cart pushers and carriage owners were all but ready to start a riot.

"Let´s see if we can get a closer look" William murmured to the vampire who had already begun to unfold the tripod enfolded in the square iconographic box. "Might be material for tomorrow´s front page."

They pushed closer which was no easy feat given that the street was all but completely sealed off, courtesy of the giant beings that currently resembled their natural outward appearance even closer than normally. They embodied stone. In a way, it was almost picturesque, William mused and nodded towards Otto who looked about as ecstatic as a vampire could look in the face of an impending challenge; in other words, very*.

* _It was the teeth. It had to be the teeth. Vampires were capable of a full range of facial gestures that stymied the ingenuous observer. Any being gifted with that kind of dental prowess had to be commended for pulling off even one subtle expression, which explained why so many vampires pulled off "subtle" perfectly; it was a given, considering the amount of practice necessary to walk in public without being assaulted by terrified bystanders._

"I´m not sayin´ nuffin´ more, and I´m not movin´ either till dey´ve paid" came a great avalanche of tumbling rock and pebble matter which turned out to be the voice of their spokesperson.

"Ex-, excuse me" William had finally squeezed through the worst of the throng, "but what is this commotion all about?"

The nearest bystanders turned, and a man scratched his scraggly head. "Aren´t ye that scribbler wot collects funny carrots?"

"… Close enough. I don't suppose you could tell me more about the situation…"

"I know _exactly_ what´s going on", another interjected, and William turned towards the helpful voice. The man it belonged to shook his fist at the trolls. "They´re being bloody nuisances, is what they are. Blocking access to the streets, sitting around all day doing nothing productive, that´s just typical. Typical, I say!"

"Yes, yes, right" William´s quill, having been raised shortly before in anticipation, drooped dejectedly. "Still, it stands to reason they´re here for a purpose." The journalist raised his voice. "CAN ANYBODY TELL ME WHY THERE ARE SO MANY TROLLS AROUND?"

"Zere´s somevun vanting to talk to zer press" said Otto who had been held up and was now walking towards the group that had gathered around William. This time, the writer did not miss the collective recoil that was brought on by the vampire´s approach. Otto paid it no notice. "Maybe you vould like to conduct zer interview…?"

"Thank you, Otto, I´ll be with you momentarily." The iconographer bustled off, presumably to get some more pictures of the light reflecting off the troll´s sharper edges. The journalist turned back towards the apprehensive assembly. "Would anyone else like to make a statement? The press rarely discriminates, and the public voice will be heard, I assure you."

"Ye workin´ with that vamp?" Scraggly Head stared at him.

"He´s employed by the _Times_. Why do you ask?"

"It ain´t right." Bolstered by the murmurs of agreement around him, he spat out the next remark. "Givin´ that goshdarned sucker an ´onest job. Dat´s jus´ askin´ fer trouble. It´ll never be anythin´ else than scum. A killer, I´m tellin´ ya!"

"Sir" William said sternly (and generously, given the general appearance of the man in front of him), "if you question the integrity of one of my employees, you may do so in form of a written complaint addressed to the _Times_ ´ office. Otherwise, I must ask you not to throw around baseless accusations. Now if you will excuse me!" He left the breathless crowd behind, finally spotting Otto between two cabbage carts, meticulously lining up his next shot. The pedestrians gave him a wide berth.

"Of all the impudent, insolent-… Why, I ought to-… The shame of it!" William´s outrage seemed to jar the vampire from his concentration.

"Vot did zey do to you?" he asked curiously.

"I-… nothing. It´s what they said about you. Honestly, it´s as if you attacked them in broad daylight."

The iconographer was taken aback. "But zey did not tell it to me. And vhat´s more, zey are only vords. Vhy are you so upset?"

William thought about saving face, then the truth decided to make itself known once more. "I guess it just _irks_ me how people treat you like a felon when I know you don´t deserve it. You are a good m-… person, Otto. Hell, I´ve seen you apologise for sneezing. That´s just, just-… bad judgement!"

"Zis may be so, but it iss not a valid judgement of my character. How can it be when zey don´t even know me? Zey are merely frightened. I cannot blame zem. Zhere are many of my species zat do not have ze same restraint vhen it comes to b-… bl-… zer b-vord."

"That doesn´t mean I have to like it" grumbled William, but he let the matter rest. Bigoted as some people had revealed themselves to be, finer contemplation could wait until he had jotted down the delicious piece of journalistic matter on hand.

"Well. You´ve been busy" said Sacharissa when they trudged through the entrance of the _Times_ ´ headquarters*. William barely had the strength to hold his quill anymore, and even Otto managed to look somewhat bedraggled as he folded himself into a chair.

* _Perhaps the "only quarters" would be a more fitting description. Still, to keep up appearances, all affiliated members had been instructed to add a certain amount of grandeur to the unique blend that made up what William liked to call the truth but was, aptly speaking, three-quarters of carefully tailored honesty and one-quarter of pretence with a dash of wishful thinking._

"At least we have a story for tomorrow´s print-out" William said wearily as he joined the others at the table, "and I think we might even have some pictures to go with it. Trolls don´t really need the colour, do they, Otto?"

"Not strictly speaking, no. Most of zer shades are fabricated as _grisaille_ , anyvay, so ve should be alright for now-…"

"There you go." The writer stretched and barely avoided knocking over the inkpot sitting innocuously next to an assortment of drying sheets. "Now, what are _you_?" The paper, being of a decidedly non-living conviction, failed to answer. On a more unexpected note, Sacharissa turned a lovely shade of rouge.

"My day´s work. I thought about your suggestion, and I have some of my own. These new columns have to be designed after all, you know. If you´d like I could let you take a look…?"

This blushy proposition put William in a predicament, because everything that did not involve him getting shouted at, hit or otherwise physically inconvenienced had to be counted on the plus side. On the other hand, there was a reason why the newspaper was better off with Sacharissa sticking to the distribution of words, sentences and grammar. Some people were gifted in the arts. They had the eye and the coordination to pull off visuals that imps with their lack of imagination could never hope to create. Sacharissa firmly belonged to the other spectrum.

"That would be… lovely. Thank you for your hard work, Sacharissa. I´m sure you are just as exhausted as we are, isn´t that right? Otto?" As the vampire slowly inclined his head in bemused confirmation, William pressed onwards. "Why don´t we call it a day, hmm? Let´s reconvene tomorrow with a fresh outlook. In any case, I should probably give Gunilla a heads-up regarding that earlier two-sides printing prospect. Let the dwarfs rack their brains about that one."

His departure was halted by Otto´s abrupt exclamation. "Villiam, vait!" He was once more fiddling with his iconograph. "I thought you might like a picture taken. Somezink you could put up on zer wall, to mark zer successful times of the _Times_." He chuckled weakly and vanished behind the cape of his device, only to reappear a moment later. "I can vill fill in zer colours later. So, vot do you say?"

"Uh, yes! That is an excellent idea, actually. It could boost the team morale, I´m sure of it. Why, we could even start a tradition. Keeping track, wonderful! But right now…?" His indecision created an opening for Sacharissa who linked arms with him, beaming into the bright round window neatly obscuring the imp behind it.

"Splendid. Fire away, Otto!"

"Now, zink of zer cheddar, please!"

Click.

WHOOMPH.

"Aarghaarghaargh…"

The flash had not been bright enough for Otto to disintegrate, but it still took him a few moments to compose himself. After his obvious distress had faded, he fingered the iconograph with bright eyes.

"Is it possible for you to take a picture of yourself?" asked William, the query bobbing up from the murky depths of his ever-busy mind.

"No" said Otto shortly, and after a few seconds of silence added, "I am a vampire. Zer flash of light vould crumble me to dust faster zan zer imp could paint." It struck William as regrettable, and because he could not help himself, he tacked on another question. "So how do you know what you look like?"

"William" hissed Sacharissa, "show some respect."

"It´s alright" Otto reassured her quickly, "I don´t mind zer question. Surely you are asking because you know zat vampires do not have reflections. But zhere are options. Ve mostly commission portraits, alzhough some prefer detailed poetry. I´ve had a painting done back in zer old country, but I zink it vas lost vhen I vas-…. Vhen I left. But I´m not sure vot I look like now."

"Oh." William wished he could take back the question. "I´m sorry."

"I can imagine, zhough" the vampire continued, strangely unperturbed. "Ze vay people react to me sometimes, I zink zat´s somezink zat vill never change."

"Well, maybe it should!" Once again, William was painfully reminded of every observation he had filed away throughout the day. Angrily, he pushed a lock of hair out of his eyes, grabbed his quill and notebook and furiously began to scratch the first black lines onto the virginal expanse of a flimsy page. "All that mindless panic and bigotry! This is exactly what I´ve been brought up to be like, and I can´t stand it! And I certainly will not stand for it!"

"Not that I disagree with you" said Sacharissa, "but how are you going to change something that´s been poisoning, no, _defining_ our society for centuries?"

"Like this." The writer´s hand flinched in a last flourish. "We´ll make a public appeal."


	2. Of Dwarfs and Daredevils

A.N.

It seems to me that there is not much verbal interest in this story which is nice because it puts the pressure off my updating progress. However, I assure you I would not feel _grievously_ offended if someone took the time to leave a few words, footnotes, comments on the degenerate youth these days or advice about how to assertain the meaning of life.

* * *

 _It sometimes seemed to William that the whole population of Ankh-Morpork was simply a mob waiting to happen_. (Terry Pratchett, The Truth)

* * *

"I don´t think this is going to have much of an impact", said Goodmountain when William peered down the cellar hatch to usher him to set the painstakingly crafted message. "You can´t feed lead to the press and expect gold to come out of it."

"Well, I´m not trying to make gold, am I?" William snapped. "All I´m trying to get is some confirmation that there is still such a thing as basic human decency." He paused, mentally reviewing that comment, and cringed under the dwarf´s unimpressed glance. "No, ah, what I mean is-…"

"I know what you mean." Goodmountain sat down heavily, chainmail clinking against his stool. "You want to hold up a giant mirror up to society, a mirror made of paper and ink and naiveté. But it doesn´t work like that."

"When you say it like that-…"

"What I´m saying is that you should take a look at what somebody left at our door this morning." The dwarf gestured towards a bench innocently standing in a dim corner. "The lads took everything inside before it got too much attention, but the point was hard to miss."

Upon inspection, the mysterious load on the small bench was revealed to consist of several heavy lumps of some metal and a stake. Recognition of the latter added to the cramped feeling in William´s stomach that had steadily grown over the day. He took the tapered pole into his hands. "Did you show this to Otto?"

"What?" Goodmountain threw an irritated look at him. "Oh, that. He saw it all right. Wanted it out of his sight, too, so we left it with the rest." Suddenly, his grizzly face was awash with a furious glow. "When I get my fingers on whoever is responsible for this, this _travesty_ , I´ll crack his head open like a bunch. Of. Eggs." He punctuated the last few words with the penetrative clacking of conciliative words being set into the printing frame.

"Oh? I didn´t know you and Otto were that close."

"Huh? No! Never mind that damn vampire. I´m talking about the pyrite."

"Pyrite?"

"Yes." When William failed to morph his face into a look of comprehension, Goodmountain elaborated. "The metal. I take it you´ve never seen it?"

William shook his head.

"Superficial resemblance to gold? Worth less than a farthing? It´s also known as fool´s gold. Well, I won´t be taken for a fool, that much I can tell you."

"Is it… dangerous to you?" William ventured hesitantly, fearing that Goodmountain´s fury was fanned by serious impediments caused by the innocuous-looking blocks of metal.

"Hah!" The dwarf barked, incredulous. "No more dangerous than cinnabar trimming on a clay pot. The only injury it´s caused us is the gaping wound to our sense of pride and integrity." He smashed the final letter into place. "There. Put _that_ in your paper."

"Actually, I was intending just th-…"

"I _know_ what you meant."

For a journalist, William found that he was prone to an awful amount of slow moments. Getting the rare feeling that he should avoid digging deeper, he excused himself, joining Sacharissa at her writing desk.

"Did you know that dwarfs can get _offended_ by metal?"

The woman did not bat an eye at the random question. "Who _doesn´t_? With so many pamphlets on these sorts of topics, it´s a miracle that some people still try to bargain with Tellurium and then have the gall to act indignant when there´s an axe swinging at their mid-regions."

"Tellluri-… Never mind. What about, say, pyrite?"

"Same principle. Although the use of pyrite would probably only be attempted by morons. Even a _human_ would be angry if you tried to palm fake gold off on them. Why the sudden interest? I´d really recommend, you know, not doing any of that."

"I never said I wanted to-…" Suddenly William was aware of her mouth. The corners were turned up, and her eyes twinkled suspiciously.

"Forgive me" she said, "but you make it so easy."

"Yes, very amusing", he grumbled. He wanted to add a scathing retort, but a dwarf stuck his head through the door.

"Customer for de Worde. Mightily wealthy-lookin´ type. Says he´s here for an advert."

"Right. Let him through, then" acquiesced William and, turning to Larissa, frowned in puzzlement. "What advert? We haven´t put up adverts for weeks."

"You misunderstood" said a voice from the general direction of the door. "I want to put something into one your next publications." The newcomer clumped inside, one of his feet putting considerably more strain on the floor than the other. He waved at the two journalists with a rolled-up edition of the _Times_.

William allowed himself to blink carefully. "That is… certainly doable. What do you have in mind?"

"Nothing fanciful, I assure you, just a… general job description and an address. Here, I´ve written the details down." Two fingers dove inside an expensively embroidered coat pocket, and they emerged clutching a small folded note which he meticulously laid on the desk. William snatched it up and examined the tiny script.

"You are Mr… Pontracsson, I take it?"

"Actually, that would be my client."

"Ah. Then if you don´t mind my curiosity, why would your client limit the offer to only dwarves? The kind of work you describe would surely be suited to many other willing people as well? For example, just recently, I had a marvellous discussion with Mr Longshaft recently about the benefits of deploying gno-…"

"This is non-negotiable" interceded the dwarf. "How soon can you get it done?"

"We can have the advert running in tomorrow´s paper, but-…"

"Excellent. I´ll sort out the financials with your clerk at the entrance, shall I?"

"I wouldn´t call him a _clerk_ , exactly…" The door swung gently shut.

Forcibly unclenching his hand around the little note containing the details of their latest assignment, William dimly wondered if he had simply stopped floating through space with the rest of the disc. The facts were adding up too quickly, forming the kind of picture that his father had gleefully painted on family occasions and dinner tables, when he had been younger and less eager to jump the train.

"Sacharissa" he could barely bring himself to ask, yet he needed to know the truth, "why has our business gone down?"

"Many reasons" she said instantly. "Many tiny little things piling up and dragging our business down. You know how it is. There´s, there´s the fact that the engraver´s guild has raised their membership fee, and, oh, we´ve got a lot of competition now."

"Competition. The kind that was abolished with the denunciation of the _Inquirer_?"

"It´s not as if we _seriously_ expected them just to give up…"

"But we sell quality news! Not that bloated, buttered version of what might pass for rumours at best and straight-out lies in most cases!"

"People are sensationalists, William. And…" She pursed her lips. "They are also aware of the kind of people you employ."

"What?"

"Work with, then" Sacharissa continued, purposefully misunderstanding him. "Think it through. Who buys the _Times_?"

"Apparently, less people every day."

" _Human_ people, William. The dwarfs have got their own by now, werewolves don´t care for news, vampires don´t read, trolls _can´t_ read and anyone else who´s not entirely penniless knows better than to invest in something that´s going to end up as a lavatory accessory anyway."

"Now that´s just uncalled for." William scowled, not particularly caring for the reminder. Harry King had left a mark.

"The way the city has been developing… There´s a reason why those trolls were out on the street, there´s a reason why there is an entire set of slurs just for members of the Watch, and – and this is most important – there is no law against verbal defecation of any kind."

"Then it´s time we mop it up with the paper! Er… No, I didn´t mean it like-… Stop smiling, it´s not funny…"

And it really wasn´t. The city was straining at its shoddy seams, bursting with entrepreneurs and country bumkins and shady characters. And when they clashed, it got ugly. In a way, it was how Ankh-Morpork had always coped. But now the mood had shifted.

"Wake up and smell the garlic" William murmured under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. Just something Otto said to me, back when he´d just started working with us."

Now the city reeked of garlic*, olfactory non-existence notwithstanding. How could he have missed all of this? It was not, he reasoned, as though Ankh-Morpork was a stranger to hostility, prejudice and, in theory, isolationism. But somehow, people had forgotten that they heavily relied on contact with other species. Who wanted to heave around heavy crates when trolls moved them around without moving more than perhaps three fingers at most? Who could imagine an existence without tools made only possibly by the dwarven affinity for metals? It just wasn´t good business to look down on those who bore the future on their backs.

* _And cabbage. Also mud, and rat droppings, and various other unappetising things that no one wants to think about yet always worm their way into dinner conversations._

"William" Sacharissa interrupted his internal monologue. "Why are you suddenly so hung up about all of this?"

"Hung up? Hung up? This city has been hanging by a thread for far too long. Do you really think we have a future on the great big disc if we go on like this? Quirm´s soap export has surpassed ours in the past month, and incidentally, they recently passed a law on Golem-Troll relations that has everyone crazy about taking their business there!"

"It´s just soap."

"It´s _never_ just soap. The whole business stinks, Sacharissa, and Gods be damned if I keep letting it happen."

There was a moment of astonished silence, and as William looked up from the edge of the desk he had so desperately been clenching, he was met with a mien of utter incomprehension.

"How long have you been living in Ankh-Morpork?"

"It´s been a decade or so" he muttered sullenly.

"Then how is it that you can still be so ignorant about the way this city works?"

The writer bristled indignantly. "I haven´t been ignorant-…"

"But you have!" Now Sacharissa was getting angry as well, and – to William´s disappointment – not at the city´s degenerating state but at him. "Our community _thrives_ on misplaced hostility. The competitive factor alone-…" William opened his mouth to insert a comment of his own, but Sacharissa blundered on with frightful passion. "Where would we stand today if the Dwarfs had suddenly decided, oh, history is for people with more brains than intelligence, let´s all celebrate with the Trolls because they are suddenly our best friends? They wouldn´t have come here but probably stuck a deal with Chrysoprase and people of his ilk. What would we do without the rivalries of old and without the daily rows on our streets? All they do is reassure people that some things stay the same, and if they get a bloody lip then that´s life, hardly anything you can do about it, except a wet towel or perhaps an ice chip, but I think you get my point."

"I do?"

"You want everyone to get along" she said gently. "But you forget that not everyone thinks like you. People need to be angry sometimes, and preferably based on established facts – such as ancient prejudice between species – than all the crap that they´re showered with every day-…"

"Yes, I thought the chamber pot practise should be re-examined…" said William absently, amazed at what his ears struggled to feed to his brain.

"So why change the status quo? It´s not like it´s actually possible to change people´s minds about zombies and ghouls and basically everyone who doesn´t have a proper blood supply…"

William´s sluggish thoughts suddenly went into overdrive. "You might have the past on your side, but I am worried about the future. I grant you that the streets are probably safer with the occasional mob, but the conflicts have become more personal. It´s not just a heap of people setting indiscriminate fires to everything that incidentally burns down without destroying the whole city. No, they have begun to choose targets. Just ask Gunilla what he found on our doorstep today."

With a healthy amount of righteous indignation, he stood and left the room, the dramatic effect of which slightly diminished by his prompt return to snatch his pen from the office desk.

"I´m going out" he called out to anyone who bothered to listen.

"Might as well" said Boddony who was currently on desk duty at the entrance of their shed-turned-press office. "It´s nearly dark. I´ll probably be right behind you, writer-boy."

This was not the reaction William had hoped for, and he dejectedly slumped onto the street that was only now beginning to teem with life*. He had barely walked ten steps when he felt someone rushing up to him.

 _*The term "night life" gained a whole new level of meaning if one took into account that well over half of Ankh-Morpork´s business took place in the after-hours when the alleys were dimly lit at best, mostly pitch-black and therefore windows of great opportunity._

"Villiam!"

He easily identified the heavy accent. "I was just leaving, Otto, so if there is no pressing matter I´d rather you-…"

"It is, in fact, a matter for ze press" said Otto. "I zink you vill be interested in it."

Curiosity grabbed William by the lapels and shook him firmly.

"Alright, what´s so important that it couldn´t wait until tomorrow?"

"Actually, it probably could" the vampire admitted sheepishly. "But you seemed in ze right state of mind for vot I intend to bring to your attention. Normally I vould not bother. Still…" He hesitated. William waited patiently, half expecting an ominous sound in the distance. Some habits were hard to drop, although in his case it had only started after Otto´s happy discovery of psychotropic phrasing correlating to time-space. It had been an eventful night.

"You see, ve have – the Black Ribboners, I mean – ve have not been in very good standing viz the public lately, and zhere have been some, votsit, _incidents_ zhat have occurred with regards to our meetings. It is a minor issue, but most of us don´t vant to keep svitching out all zer chairs for ones zhat are not covered viz crushed garlic or drenched in holy vater."

Against every sense of self-preservation, William whistled. "Sounds like someone´s anxious to make you mad."

"Yes" the iconographer agreed. "Positive reinforcement vorks better if you don´t have to vatch out for holy tea or garlic candles."

"I´ll take your word for that."

"And I zought, vhy not vrite a report? If ve tell zer public zhat ve don´t vant their b-vord at all and never even so much as _zink_ about it, maybe zey vill rest easier and stop dribbling lemon juice over zer harmonium. I vould do it, except I am more comfortable behind a lens than bent over a vriting desk." William nodded thoughtfully; he had on one memorable occasion asked the vampire to shed light on his iconographic developments via a written report that had taken almost two hours to decipher. It was not so much his handwriting as the fact that his expressions seemed literally translated from his native tongue, and almost two centuries out of style. His grasp of semantics probably met with Sacharissa´s fashion sense over tea.

"That seems reasonable. So, what you want me to do…" The writer left the sentence hanging in the air, begging to be taken up.

"I zought you could come viz me to our next meeting. Get to know some others, make some notes, get some statements, zer usual drill."

William tried to mask his sudden dread, but Otto was not easily fooled. "I know it is a lot to ask. But I promise you zhat you vill be completely safe at all times! Look, I vill pay you just like any other client-…"

"No, no, no" William hurried to cut him off. "That won´t be necessary. I-… of course I´ll come. I was just surprised that you would want me to intrude on your meeting. After all, there can´t be too many visitors coming ´round for a cuppa, eh?"

"… Right" Otto said glumly. "I cannot say zhat happens. Ever." Then he brightened, fangs glinting in the glow of crusty street lamps. "Zhank you all zer same, Villiam. Ve appreciate your support very much!"

The writer chuckled nervously. He had grown used to having a vampire in his cellar, but meeting a whole bunch of them at once was not exactly on his Hogswatch list*.

 _*It had been once, back in his early childhood when his father had not yet managed to instil his most distinguishing lectures in Young William. The list, lovingly and painstakingly crafted in crayon, had ended up chasing the chill from the De Worde mansion as an offering to the fireplace. The experience had left the boy with a growing sense of dread and the butler with firm instruction to organise a place at Hugglestones rather earlier than later._

There was, at this point, a large commotion in a nearby alley. Contrary to the deeply-rooted Ankh-Morpork tradition with regards to public affairs (which was not giving a rat´s arse about them, unless there was money in it or the occasion called for some entertainment), William made a gesture that was universally recognised as a request to follow, except in Howondaland where in fact it was generally assumed that the person executing the movement had recently acquired two-thirds of a faulty fig plantation and expressly wished for assisted self-termination. Fortunately, Otto arrived at the right conclusion and crept after the curious writer.

Some confusion followed as to the general where-about of exactly four people, three teeth and two limbs. When the ruckus had faded, William found himself shaking the enthusiastic hand of a tall, lanky man.

"May I say, what a marvellous display! Well done, Sir, well done."

"Certainly" William managed. "Are you quite alright?"

"Yes, I think so. But, ah…" The man lowered his voice. "The vampire…?"

"He´s with me" said William firmly, and after only a moment´s hesitation the stranger turned his beaming smile towards Otto, snatching up the bemused vampire´s hand just as exuberantly.

"Bless you- sorry, thank you, Sir, for delivering me of those wretched souls."

"You are… Omnian, aren´t you?" William ventured a guess.

"Got it in one."

"Why were those men attacking you?"

"Couldn´t say, Sir."

William patted his pockets for his notebook and a pen. "Would you mind telling me your name? And your age, if it´s all the same to you."

"Seal-The-Words-Of-Prophecy-Unto-The-Hearts-Of-All-Adversaries, Sir. Thirty-Seven."

The pen faltered. "Seal-The-Words-… Of-Hearts… Unto adversity… Thirty-Seven, you said?"

"That´s right. May I present you with a complimentary leaflet on my congregation´s most recent lectures and imminent projects? I´ll be in town for another month, and I should be honoured if you would consider attending our ceremony next Octeday, where I will lead the procession with my good friend For-The-Love-Of-Om."

William took the offering and, after making a great show of inspecting it all around, handed it over to Otto. The vampire stared at the pamphlet.

"Zis says not to eat more zan two ounces of bark per veek. I wasn´t avare humans could-…"

"Oh, that´s one of the earlier commandments" Seal-The-Words hurried to say. "Back from the days when food was even more scarce than today. Of course it´s caused a minor Schism, but the Church survived that one almost entirely intact."

"And vot about zer restriction on slug meat?"

"That was an addendum introduced to the curricular after Bishop Kreeblephor´s conversion of a lesser demon. He had a most unfortunate dietary habit. The demon, that is, not the Bishop. Turned a few delicate stomachs as well as many infidels, Om bless him."

"Zer prohibition of zer letter _pory_? I´ve never even heard of it."

"Ah yes, another one of the olds. The Quisition _was_ rather thorough about that. Still, it´s not like we´ve ever needed it, eh?"

"And vhy is-…"

"I´m sorry" William interjected before Otto could get any further and, Gods forbid, cause another Cataclysm of Faith. "Could I ask you a few more questions about the attack? And I would like to get a picture of you. For the paper, you see."

"The paper?" Seal-The-Words inspected his wrist distractedly. Then his eyes bugged out. "You mean the newspaper? The _Observer_? Or perhaps the _Puzzler_? Surely not the _Times_?"

"That, that´s the one."

"My dear man!" An entire family of sparrows could have nested between the gleaming rows of clerical teeth that were suddenly presented. Even Otto looked impressed. " _Of course_ I will assist you with your… inquiries, ha ha. Isn´t that how you always write it? The newspaper, my word. What an amazing opportunity."

Glancing at the pamphlet still held tight within Otto´s grasp, William suddenly felt considerably less eager to complete the potential page two headliner. He very much doubted the continued commitment of a significant amount of readers when they discovered the Holy Word of Om spread across the pages.

"Erm, on second thought, I think we have everything we need. Oh, the picture. Otto, could you just…?"

"Already on it" the vampire called cheerfully. "Both of you, please turn your head in zis direction…" There was some uncertainty as to what direction he could have possibly referred to, since neither man could see further than maybe three feet on account of it being night and the Location being Ankh-Morpork, where the street lanterns might as well have been designed by B. S. Johnson for all the good they did. However, Otto was able to direct them into suitable heroic poses with only minor stumbling about and treading on toes.

When all was said and done and contemplated (such as the acquisition of a torch since it had been rather difficult locating Otto´s ashes on the muddy ground upon remembering that the vampire had not managed to replace his blood vial after last time), William bid the other two farewell and hurried off towards Mrs Arcanum´s. This story could wait a day; after all, the current publication in progress was bound to command attention.


	3. The Sorrows of Young William

A.N.

Some familiar faces are introduced to this story, and William de Worde faces disappointment as well as an unexpected opportunity.

The chapter title is a slight adaptation to Goethe´s _Die Leiden des jungen Werthers_ (engl. _The Sorrows of Young Werther)_ , which I deemed appropriate in this case.

Thank you for the interesting viewpoint expressed in the comment box. While I don´t precisely plan to give up writing to prepare for the arrival of Jesus Christ, I appreciate that everyone has their own opinion.

* * *

 _"Be careful. People like to be told what they already know. Remember that. They get uncomfortable when you tell them new things."_ (Havelock Vetinari, in: Terry Pratchett, The Truth)

* * *

"Scoobrllieu!"

"MipfdPAMF!"

"What _is_ the matter with these fellows?" asked Lord Vetinari with mild puzzlement, peering out of the vast windows of his office onto the early morning glow suffusing the streets. At this time of day, the city was almost a pleasant view.

Rufus Drumknott, who had only moments before entered the room with a tray and the obligatory paper freshly bought off one of his Lord´s subjects of inquiry, carefully set the load on Vetinari´s desk and gave a carefully measured shrug.

"No one knows, my Lord."

Vetinari pondered this revelation. "Maybe" he conceded eventually, "they are making perfect sense, only in a way no one else can fathom. Far be it from us to judge what we don´t understand."

"How very true."

"Drumknott" Vetinari finally turned, raising an eyebrow at the clerk. "do I detect a derisive tone?"

"I wouldn´t dare, my Lord."

"Shame." The Patrician sat on his chair and delicately lifted a cup to his lips. Almost as an afterthought, he took up the paper and glanced at the first page. ´The Truth Shall Make Ye Flee´ indeed. Moments later, his eyes rested squarely on the article that occupied most of the page, written in small script under a large-type title.

 **CITY COMMUNITY CLOSE TO CRUMBLING**

It was passionate, inflammatory, and written with precisely the amount of scandal it took to engage a (literate) citizen´s interest. Vetinari shook his head at the words. The message was unmistakeable.

"Nice try" said the Patrician. "It is gratifying to see the work of great minds. Incidentally, I wonder if I should acquaint de Worde with one."

* * *

William woke to the clamorous occasion of Mrs Arcanum´s weekly cleaning endeavour. Her efforts were commendable if one kept in mind the average landlord´s lax attitude towards hygiene. Still, her advanced age kept her from truly making progress against the insistent layers of dust and grime that covered most of the residence. William, as a courtesy to the natural male inclination, made a habit of tidying his own room to the point of being just a tad cleaner than the rest of the house while expending the minimal effort necessary. This pleased Mrs Arcanum to the point of the occasional bit of burnt bacon (probably even derived from real meat) at breakfast.

He went downstairs to receive a bowl of porridge and a complementary boiled egg, eagerly awaiting judgement on today´s issue of the _Times_. To his immense disappointment, Mr Mackleduff had forgone the daily paper purchase in favour of treating himself to a new shoe brush, and no one else had thought to buy the edition instead.

"Nothing personal, dear" Mrs Arcanum reassured him, uncharacteristically taking notice of his sullen face. "You make quite a lot of these papers, surely we can afford to miss one."

"But this one is special" William said miserably.

"There, there" crooned the woman and actually patted his hand, and William wondered whether she had recently won the lottery. Then again, she had followed the rapid expansion of his printing business with immense interest and no small amount of second-hand pride, a fact that she was sure to mention now and then and that filled the journalist with embarrassed pleasure. It was like having a nagging but encouragingly involved aunt.

He extricated himself from the breakfast table and went to work. Sacharissa was in the process of consuming her breakfast (consisting of some grapes and a squashed pear) when she spotted him.

"Why, if it isn´t the hero of the day" she said, but William had a feeling that there was a lot of sarcasm crammed into that utterance.

"What do you mean?" he asked, swerving out of the way of two dwarfs carrying a large crate between them. It mostly contained bottles of ink in a kaleidoscopic array of colours, but the writer noticed with satisfaction the box of letters they had ordered weeks ago. No longer would he have to worm his way around their "r"-shortage (its substitution with "l" only worked up to a certain point).

"I´m glad you asked" she said sweetly. William cringed by default. "We´ve had a lot of complaints about your article." He did not need to ask which one she was talking about.

"So put them in the next issue" he suggested.

"They were delivered in person."

"… Oh."

"It was just as well Rocky forgot to go home yesterday." The Complaints, Beheadings and Horsewhippings Editor was, as far as trolls went, a diligent and reliable worker. He had successfully averted the majority of their newspaper´s dissatisfied customers and recipients simply by way of gentle persuasion. Unfortunately for them, a troll´s definition of "gentle" was up to debate and, from any other being´s point of view, ranged somewhere between "forceful" and "bloody". He was worth every penny of his appropriately sized salary.

William carefully measured the risk factor of his next question, but true to his nature, he was unable to suppress it.

"What did they say?"

Sacharissa huffed and puffed and, after William had been made sufficiently aware of her indignation, told him the summarised version of a long and tedious morning staring at a troll´s craggy back.

"Hold up a minute, please" William said and awkwardly averted his eyes when she finally paused to take a large breath. "Did you just say… Carrot?"

"Yes, he was here as well."

" _Captain_ Carrot? He made a _complaint?_ "

"Ah… No. Actually, he wanted to congratulate you."

That was excellent news. Even in a place as prickly and capricious as Ankh-Morpork, people _liked_ Captain Carrot of the City Watch (and he was always very clear about reciprocating the sentiment, which was even more astonishing). For some reason, they trusted him, and if he was on William´s side then he had gained a valuable ally.

"I´ll have to pay him a visit" said William, making a mental note. Perhaps I should take Goodmountain, too, he thought, to grease communications. Dwarfs got along well with other species, trolls being the glaring exception, but they tended to stay within familiar grounds, among people who understood the value of precious metals and the worth of a good old headbutt.

Quickly casting the ridiculous image of Carrot and Goodmountain performing the latter gesture from his mind (but privately thinking that it was great material for the caricature section), William found himself ushered towards his room with the instruction to reduce the amount of paperwork accumulating on his desk or face the wrath of his co-editor.

He nodded and thanked her for her patience and, when he was sure she was out of sight and hearing range, climbed down into the cellar. Spotting Otto hanging down from the low ceiling, he ambled over and stopped short, stymied by the stranger slumped in an ancient rocking chair that no one had bothered to throw out.

He sent a quiet word of greeting towards the vampire who unfolded himself with nimble movements. After all required rituals of communication were sufficiently dealt with, William pointed a hesitant finger towards the third figure.

"Is that…?"

"Zis is indeed Mr Seal-Zer-Vords-Of-Prophecy-Unto-Zer-Hearts-Of-All-Adversaries" confirmed Otto in the patient voice of someone who had recently, involuntarily and inescapably gained more knowledge than he had asked for and was now anxious to share this misfortune.

"But why is he-…"

"Here, you mean to ask?" The vampire went over to his workbench, setting aside various eel jars and empty cannisters without so much as a sound which somewhat baffled William, until he had found several sheets of smudged paper. Letters scrawled over the first page in a dense array of lines, breaking up at some point to let another hand take over for the next paragraph, and this exchange of words continued on to fill the second page, and the next one as well.

"After you left, I asked some more qvestions and he vas happy to answer them all, so I invited him here to clear up a few points. You know, it is not often zat a religious person agrees to a verbal dispute viz somevun like me."

William was familiar with the commonly taken stance towards the undead. Since most religions highly valued death as a natural process and a path to the afterlife, anyone who ignored nature´s most finite rule was by definition an abomination.

"How… accommodating of him" said William with suspicion. "How are you feeling? Any great new insights we should be looking out for? Have you developed the sudden urge to carry a turtle pendant around your neck?" Wearing a religious symbol would certainly fit the vampire´s self-destructive habit of regularly exposing himself to copious quantities of light. And there was the whole matter of vampires being susceptible to strange influences in the absence of bloodlust which William had taken great care never to think about and which now starkly raised some questions. The writer eyed Otto with new fervour.

"No" said Otto calmly. "But he vas very considerate in explaining zer prophet Brutha´s decree on zer topic of embalming fluids. I vill have to test some of it, of course. Zhere should be some salamanders around here…" Upon noticing William´s terrified expression, he smiled weakly.

"Sacharissa vas right. You are making it very easy."

"Oh" breathed William, too relieved to feign anger. "Maybe she´s on to something. Hang on!" He sharply turned his head towards the iconographer who stiffened in surprise. "What did he want in exchange?"

"No reward was promised, and nothing shall be demanded" came the voice of Seal-The-Words from the rocking chair, saturated with sleep. The man stood up and stretched, grimacing slightly as he did so. The chair had not been designed for overnight use. Now that some light, dim as it was, illuminated the area, William saw that the man was clad in the traditional Omnian habit which had probably enabled his assailants to identify him as a cleric. He also possessed a kind, round face with dark features.

"Otto" he said through a yawn, and William raised an eyebrow at the easy familiarity with which Seal-The-Words had uttered the address, "would you terribly mind if we continued our chat another time? I´m afraid I have to hurry if I want to make it to the morning gathering."

"It is no problem at all" Otto assured him and offered him the pages of their nocturnal debate. However, the cleric would have none of it.

"Keep them" he said, tapping his nose knowingly. "I have a feeling they could come in handy sometime."

"Vot a vonderful man" said Otto admiringly when the human in question had disappeared up the ladder. "He even complimented my painting." William´s eyes flickered towards a corner in which, he knew from experience, he would be treated to the sight of a window to an artist´s soul. Colourful splatters, crumpled balls of paper and tin cans speckled with crusted paint had not yet managed to conquer the place, but they were definitely laying siege.

William counted the vampire´s newfound obsession with self-applied art as one of his less dangerous experiments. Granted, he did not quite see how it could be turned into anything useful, but at least the downside was limited to a slight increase in work related expenses and the penetrative smell of paint. It was just another way to perpetrate Otto´s appreciation for the interaction of light and shadow, and that was above all else the reason for William to encourage the habit.

So far, Otto had captured two dwarfs, a rocking horse, one of Sacharissa´s meticulously arranged bouquets and the press blending into what he had called "an original gothic landscape, just like ve had back home". The newest canvas showed blurry shades of dove grey and blue homing in on a bright gleaming splash. Otto had called it "Zer sun breaking zhrough murky clouds on a rainy day" but later privately admitted to William that a dwarf had wanted a turn with the gold paint and then abandoned the large sphere smack dab in the middle of the canvas. Left with a lot of blank space to fill, Otto had not wanted the half-finished piece to go to waste, and thusly abstract art had emerged amidst its more naturalistic predecessors.

"He even invented a brand-new title! ´Enlightenment´, he called it." Otto sighed happily. "Oh, vot I vouldn´t give for another night viz him."

William chose not to rise to the opportunity.

"Alas, I vill have to be content viz zis for now" said the vampire, inclining his head towards the pages in his grasp. "Alas, tell me vhy you have come down. Did you vant to go out again?"

"Indeed" said William, glad for the change of topic. "I was hoping to bring Gunilla as well. Do you know if he´s around?"

"I zink Dozy took him to zer Engraver´s Office. I hear zey have been complaining about our daily edition again. You know how they get vhen ve lower zer prices."

The writer shrugged. The _Times_ ´ relationship with the rest of the Guild of Engravers and Printers had not precisely mellowed even after the membership issues had been resolved. Although the newspaper strictly adhered to the confining amount of new regulations hastily thrown together after the rapid printing development, the Chiefs of Office kept searching for deviancy like they were being paid for it, which was probably the case.

"That´s alright. I think I can handle Captain Carrot without dwarven support anyway."

"Oh? Vot is it you vant vith the Vatch?"

"I´m not sure." And yet, opportunities only existed if you kept looking. As a journalist and self-declared founder of the profession, William knew all about them. News did not exist until you made them news; up to that point, they were called "things that happen" and tended to unobtrusively knit together the stages of life. The same held true for opportunities, and William would create one simply by reacting to an opening.

"Be sure to get a good one of Carrot" William therefore told his iconographer. "People like to see him in the paper." Indeed, never had they sold more sheets than on the day the redhaired copper had featured on the front page after single-handedly chasing off three armed thugs harassing the post office staff, hastily posing for an iconograph before being swept off by the adoring masses.

Choosing the most inconspicuous of routes to avoid undue attention, they arrived at Pseudopolis Yard. As expected, the place was nearly devoid of life. The citizens of Ankh-Morpork tended to stay away from people who made it their business to pry into other´s.

The gates were guarded by two fresh-faced recruits whose names William had forgotten although he knew he had seen them around, mostly on scenes of traffic obstruction or a minor break-in. They stood to attention as they came closer, and although one of them resumed his slouch once he recognised the notorious writer, the other shot a nervous glance towards Otto who adopted the unconcerned stance of someone foreseeing trouble in the immediate future.

"What do you want?" said Shoddy Nerves.

"We´d like a word with Mr Carrot, please" answered William amiably.

"That´s Captain Carrot to you. And what makes you think-…" His colleague intervened at this point, obviously not deeming them worth the effort.

"Look, they´re prob´ly here fer the conf´rence, so let´s not make a fuss like las´ time, ´kay? Greg?" William nodded instantly. One thing he knew was never to let an opportunity pass by. Greg scowled but had no further objections.

"Vot conference?" asked Otto as they left the young coppers behind.

"I have no idea."

Passing through the corridors entirely unscathed, William marvelled at the progress they had made since the beginning when the word "newspaper" had barely left its first impression on their toddler enterprise. Nowadays, people seemed mostly torn between eagerness and resignation when faced with the prospect of news coverage. The point was, they no longer had to mince words to mingle with the scenery. These days they were part of it.

"Look. Zhere he is" Otto hurriedly took the iconograph off his shoulder while William strode towards their tall target. Carrot was strolling down the corridor, lighting up when he saw the writer as if he had suddenly found an old friend.

"Mr de Worde! What a pleasant surprise. I was at your office just this morning."

"So I was told" said William, touched by the warm greeting although he had been prepared for the reception.

"Tell me, how is your press business coming along? Your article today… Inspiring! My word, I must have read it three times by now. I will make a mention of it in my next letter to my parents, they do so love hearing from people of a similar disposition. You know, they adopted me because-…"

It was all William could do to keep from blushing like a teenager under the onslaught of praise.

"Oh? Fascinating. Mind if I jot down one or two things-… But really, I´m glad you think along the same lines. Perhaps you will be interested to hear that not many people do."

"Really?" Carrot seemed genuinely put-off. "I can´t believe it. I can´t say I´ve ever noticed such things. Apart from the occasional argument, of course…"

And you would say that, William thought. You work in one of the most diverse places this city has seen so far, and people actually smile when they see you walking by. I don´t know how you do it, but I wish I had your gift.

"But it must be true. You wouldn´t have put it in your paper otherwise, would you?" Carrot turned towards Otto. "How rude of me. Please allow me to greet you properly. You are Mr Chriek, if I´m not mistaken, yes?" The flattered vampire shook his hand, indicating that yes, that was his name and no, he could not believe someone like Carrot would remember such a detail.

"A Black Ribboner. Very commendable, I´ve always said. It must take a lot out of you? Yes, I thought so." He let go of Otto´s hand who looked faintly disappointed. Then he blinked and turned back to the assembly of his iconograph. William would have laughed, except he was really not in a position to safely do so without making himself the pot to Otto´s black kettle.

"Come, come" the Captain ushered them towards his office. "We must catch up. And it goes without saying that you will be welcome to join today´s conference."

"Incidentally, what´s the occasion?"

"You haven´t heard?" Now Carrot looked faintly worried. "In that case, I´d be grateful if you didn´t mention this to Commander Vimes. He doesn´t like me telling, excuse the word, outsiders about internal affairs, except this really isn't one because it´s been cleared for the public. It´s actually more of an announcement, and to be honest, there would probably a lot more attendants if the Commander had actually allowed us to spread the news, but there we go. Oh, that sounds terrible! He really is a wonderful man, and I´m learning so much from him every day-…"

"We understand" hurried William to interject, feeling worse by the minute and not wanting to add to the man´s guilty conscience. While he did not precisely share Carrot´s opinion about the obstinate Commander of the City Watch, he had to admit that there were many who would do a worse job than Sir Samuel Vimes, objectively speaking. If only the man were a little more inclined towards cooperation… But there was hope, as long as he kept Carrot in charge. Now there was a man who believed in the public right of information.

Carrot closed the door behind them and offered them both a seat on the two chairs competing for space in the middle of the tiny room, opting to sit on his desk since the office did not host any other seating opportunities.

As they seamlessly slipped from topic to topic, Otto fluttered around them, searching for the perfect angle. Once he was satisfied, he kept flashing them with salamander-light, mostly managing to protect himself from the whole dust issue via application of an experimental sunshade. Carrot obliged him, stopping in-between sentences to direct a smile at the iconograph that seemed to have developed a near-corporeal existence of its own.

Eventually, he got back to his feet, towering benevolently over the two _Times_ editors.

"I think they are about to start the conference. Would you gentlemen please come with me…?"

They were led towards a brightly lit room. The overwhelming majority of the attendants emitted the gleam of more or less polished armour.

"What´s this about, do you think?" William did not like being left in the metaphorical dark.

"Huh? I don´t know" replied the iconographer distractedly, magnetically drawn to the plethora of shining brass features. He could not get his equipment working fast enough. William barely caught the vampire´s hand bearing down on the button for the hammer. In its cage, the salamander drowsed on.

"Hold on. We don´t want to attract undue attention. Let´s wait for an opportune moment."

"Okay" said Otto, shoulders slumping imperceptibly.

Carrot had disappeared a while ago, and now the journalist could see where he had gone, because he re-entered the room with Commander Vimes in tow. Stepping aside with a smart salute, the Captain watched the Head of the Watch march in front of the gathering. Without further ado the man barked: "This is not, I repeat, _not_ a mandatory meeting. Everyone who abandoned their post for this, out of my sight!" Not a single muscle moved.

"Sir" Carrot whispered. His voice carried like a beggar´s prayer on Hogswatch night. "They were instructed to come."

"What? All of them? By who?" Vimes glared darkly into the direction from which a tiny _Whom_ had coughed its way to the front. William ducked self-consciously.

"You, Sir."

"Why would I do that?"

"I don´t know, Sir, but it´s your signature on this paper." Carrot held up a document. "´All officers are required to attend´, it says right-… here." The Commander looked an awful lot like a man about to produce a string of expletives, and maybe he would have given in had he not caught sight of William.

Vimes lowered his voice to a furious saliva-fuelled litany, coiling towards Carrot like a promise to heap wrath upon the nearest person. The Captain leaned closer, oblivious to the danger. William could not quite make out every word, but he was relatively sure about what was being discussed.

Whether Carrot really had a calming influence on the notoriously grim Commander or Vimes just wanted the whole thing to be over and done with, William could not say, but they straightened up quickly. The writer was amazed to notice that there was no further comment on his presence.

"Alright" he murmured to his colleague. "If anything happens, I want you to press that button like your life depends on it."

"Very vell" Otto confirmed haltingly, fingers hovering over the iconograph. "I haf a bad feeling about zis…"


End file.
